


this is the last time I'm gonna put you back together

by VolxdoSioda



Series: Whumptober 2018 (Complete) [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Day 12 - Electrocution, Gen, Prompto Whump, Whumptober, group dynamic issues, self-confidence issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-18
Updated: 2018-10-18
Packaged: 2019-08-03 23:15:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,474
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16335098
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VolxdoSioda/pseuds/VolxdoSioda
Summary: Prompto's told him half a dozen times he can't handle spell work well. Noctis puts one in his hand anyway, and says, "Just in case."When things go belly-up in their usual fashion, Prompto's left with the uncomfortable realization he's never really fit the group like Ignis or Gladio do.Maybe it's time he left.





	this is the last time I'm gonna put you back together

Prompto's told Noctis half a dozen times that out of all of them, he's the least graceful at handling spells. There's a vast difference between looking down the barrel of a gun and firing, and tossing a ball full of liquid death at someone and hoping it doesn't smash open and snag everyone up in its vortex.

Noctis and Ignis have spellchecking down to an art. They both tend to back up a ways, and look for the biggest cluster of bodies - to that end, Prompto usually provides one with his Gravisphere when he sees them lining up for the kill. And then, once they're ready to throw, they both usually give a shout to clear out any friendlies in the area.

Prompto does that too, but only when he's going for a scattershot with his gun, which is incredibly rare. The scattershot was cool right until he realized just how many bullets got wasted at the end of a fight, and then the technique got canned in favor of the Gravisphere. When he's got his hands on the spell globe, he tends to forget things like  _line of fire_ or  _axis of movement._  Because in his head, spells are stationary - they're designed to hit one target, or multiples in the case of the multi-casts Noct likes to whip out once in a blue moon to keep them all on their toes.

And yet, despite all that, here he is, Thundera in hand, rolling it between gloved fingers as he contemplates life choices. 

 _'Just in case'_ , Noctis had said, when he'd pressed it to Prompto's palm that morning. _"Call it backup insurance for if we need to bounce quickly. I trust you, Prom. I know you'd never hurt us, not willingly."_

 _"Indeed,"_  Ignis had added in, coming over to gently take his other hand with his own and squeeze reassuringly.  _"Accidents happen. We're well-stocked, so we should be fine. But if something does happen, you needn't panic."_

Sure. Great. Fantastic. But that still didn't make up for the fact that Prompto hadn't been trained around spellwork like Noctis and Ignis had, he didn't know the first thing about the construct or creation of these flasks, and every time someone stuck one in his hand, all his carefully honed skills and habits for safety went out the window.

And they've literally handed him the most dangerous one in this whole arsenal. Because fire? Fire might hit someone, but Stop Drop and Roll was created for a reason, and they've had to rush over to pat each other out before. Blizzard hurts like a bitch, but so long as you hunker down appropriately the frostbite will melt and you'll be fine. Thunder though? Thunder bounces. It seeks bodies, going after water or tall spots. Skitters this and that way like an especially mean spider, delivering bites to all in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Prompto's been on the receiving end of one of those before. An accident, like Noctis is telling him absolutely won't happen with this flask in his hand. Noct had thrown one, and he'd given the yell before the throw, but Prompto had been up to his neck in MTs and under a hail of gunfire, and hadn't heard. The MT's had gone down, but so had he, jerking and twitching and gasping for air like he was one of Noct's catches out at sea.

They're going up against a grouping of Gurangatch for a hunt - the reward is 10k gil. Not exactly something easy to turn down when it means at least two weeks worth of groceries, sleeping spots and whatever curatives they need. Granted they've been doing good on that last part recently - probably because they've been sticking to the areas where the monsters don't really bother people. 

So even if he's reluctant to do this, and Ignis and Noctis are both armed to the teeth and everyone is competent enough to realize that handing the nervous blond a ball of thunder is a bad life choice, he's still going to do it. Because Noctis asked him, and looked him in the eye and told him it'll be okay. Yeah Prompto knows it's probably a wad of shit, and he's going to end up fucking this up six ways to Sunday, but Noctis has had his loyalty since they were kids, and all they both wanted was a friend. That's what keeps him going in all this - the memory of his smiles, the soft looks of pride, of pleasure that he's there, with all of them, even if he doesn't belong. 

"Alright," Gladio says, and Prompto swallows down his nerves, double-checks his guns are reloaded and ready to go, that his stash of field cures is firm on his hip, that his backup gun is loaded in case something goes too wrong. "We ready?"

Ignis and Noctis finish their checks before Prompto does, and nod. Prompto nods. Gladio nods.

"Good. Then let's hit it!"

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

The fight isn't especially hard, at least not the way Prompto went in expecting. The Gurangatch are tenacious though, taking blow after blow with everything they've got and still not even slowing down. It probably doesn't help that they're heftier than their distant cousins, the Sahagin, and bigger with larger everything. It feels like when they tackle one of those giant snakes Noctis seems so fond of picking fights with. Long fights, lots of wounds, and a lot of 'oh thank fuck we're alive' after each one. It's not hard so much as it is draining. A slow march of insanity with the promise of 'oh well maybe you'll survive' at the end.

So given it's a march of tenacity instead of strength like they were expecting, it's not a real surprise that Ignis and Noctis run through their spell flasks first. That not even halfway into the fight, after ducking down behind Gladio's shield to survive the blizzard and staying the distance as the fire eats against their scales, Noctis calls out, "Promp, the flask!"

He isn't able to reach it immediately, because one of the Gurangatch has their teeth wrapped around his gun as he fires into its mouth, and it's doing it's level best to eat him before he can kill it. A lucky shot pierces it's brain and ends the fight, though not before more show up to take the place of the ones already fallen. 

"Prompto!" Ignis yells. A fast reminder, not so much a scolding.

"Yeah, got it!" Prompto yells back, and hastily zips back before he can get mobbed again. Takes the flask out, takes in a few quick breaths, counts to three as he looks for his opening.

There! A quick shift in the bodies - Gladio, Ignis and Noctis at safe distance, while the Gurangatch are all clustered tightly in the middle, facing outward in defense of themselves. Perfect. 

"Comin' in hot!" he screams, loud enough to wake the dead, and shifts back to chucks the flask.

And in that moment, several things happen at once. Looking back, Prompto can say with all certainty it's nobody's fault - it's simply one of those moments where  the stars align, people take one step too many or say the wrong thing, and the whole avalanche comes down on them. 

The first is that one of Gurangatch spits a jet of water at Prompto - he yelps and dodges, but he's already in the process of throwing. His aim is off when the flask hits air.

The second is that another of their targets lunges for Ignis, and when Ignis brings his blade up to deflect the strike, Noctis curses and throws his weapon over, putting himself right behind the Gurangatch, his back to the others.

The third is that Gladio raises his shield to block an incoming blow from yet another Gurangatch.

It's bad timing, and fast enemies, and not being clear enough.

The flask breaks mid-air, and Prompto sees like something out of a dream the way the lines will strike. The way the spell is going to bounce. 

And he knows that out of everything right now, he is the only one truly clear of its strike.

The world speeds up, and he's made helpless as in the next instant everything gets struck down. The Gurangatch go first, thankfully, and given they're water creatures, they die almost immediately, or are at least so injured they're not interested in striking back at anyone so soon. They die where they drop or crawl off to nurse their wounds privately. 

Gladio, Ignis and Noctis also drop where they stand, but much like Prompto did when he got hit, they jerk and twitch like puppets on a string as the electricity rips through them with all the mercy of a vengeful Goddess. Prompto's screaming before he's aware of it, running over and slamming knees-first into dirt, one hand on his curatives before he can think. He breaks one Potion over each of them as the lightning bounces from body to body, keeps one eye on the treeline in case more Gurangatch show up. 

None do, but it's an agonizing wait for his friends to stop twitching, stop half-screaming and gasping like their lungs have dried up in their bodies. This, Prompto knows, is the worst part. Noctis told him they had to do it for him too - there's only so much you can do when the spells hit wrong. 

Especially with a thunder spell.

The only saving grace of the entire clusterfuck is that the haven is nearby. All their camping gear is back at the car, but for right now Prompto settles for getting his friends to the haven to ride out what is undoubtedly going to be a miserable couple of days. He gets Ignis and Noctis there with a shoulder carry, but Gladio takes a bit more work, and has to be half-dragged there. 

The guilt only truly hits him when he's coming back the second time, tent tucked under one arm, the fold-out cooking station under the other. 

 _God, what a fuck-up I am,_  he thinks, and continues to think that over the next several hours.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

The first two days are made of pure silence. The guys sleep - no surprise there. Prompto gets a lot of stuff done he didn't expect he'd be able to do competently; he imagines Ignis will want to re-do it when he wakes up, because none of it will be to his standard. The clothes are clean yeah, but they're not folded so neatly you could bounce a coin off them. The cook's station has been meticulously cleaned yeah, but it's not polished and gleaming silver like Ignis makes it. The campfire's been made, but it isn't the neat little 'house' that Gladio does, where no logs need to be added until the morning. The tent and chairs have been set up and aired out, but there's still a faintly musty smell to the whole thing. 

He's a screw up, pure and simple, and nothing he does is worthy of being Crownsguard. Of being by Noctis' side. 

 _You had one job,_ the little voice in the back of his head that sounds a lot like his adoptive mother snaps.  _And you couldn't even manage that, could you? He trusted you with one simple thing. Throw the flask. Kill the marks. And you fucked that up. Why are you even here?_

In the past, all of them seemed to have a sixth sense for when Prompto's doubts reared their head. They've put them to rest before. But they're all unconscious now, healing up after his failure. There's no one here but the voice in his head, and his own guilt, and so over the course of the three days it eats him up from the inside, until at last he can't stand it anymore.

Gladio wakes up on the fourth day. He's the only one. He's surly and grumbly and glares at Prompto.

 _Yeah,_  Prompto figures.  _Yeah, I think it's about that time._

"Gonna go grab us a bite to eat," Prompto says, forcing a smile. "Be back."

That gets him a grunt. Prompto takes his chocobo, and mentally says goodbye to Noctis, thanks him for his years of friendship.

And then he rides off, and doesn't look back.

 

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

 

In hindsight, there was only ever one way that decision was going to end.

Of course Noctis wouldn't just let him leave. Of course he'd wake up half a day later, hear that Prompto  hadn't come back, and they'd all go charging after him. Of course Gladio, after getting his head on a bit straighter, would realize where Prompto's guilt would lead.

Of course they'd track him like a hunting dog tracking a hare, and eventually find him fixing to ride out of the Post.

Prompto's got his back to them when they ride up, and he's busy with the mental list he has going. He doesn't hear the slamming of the Regalia's door. The sharp, urgent stride of three men rapidly approaching him.

Not until a hand snags the back of his shirt, and yanks, and Gladio has him over his shoulder, halfway to the Regalia.

"Wait," Prompto yells. "No,  _no, wait!"_

"Not happening," Gladio bites out, and throws him in the back seat so hard he bounces. He stares up at his comrades, dumbfounded as they pile into the car, and Ignis hits the gas, so smoothly it looks natural, but Prompto can feel the sharp edge of temper on him as they leave.

As soon as they're out of hearing range of anyone, Ignis drives them up to a secluded area, parks the car, and then he and Noctis as one turn around in their seats.

"Prom," Noctis says, softly but with feeling. "What the  _hell_ were you planning?"

Prompto finds himself running through the list of reasons - because of course he's got one of those on hand, and selects the one that fits the most. "I don't deserve it. I'm not fit for this. I don't... I don't  _fit_ , Noct."

Noctis blinks rapidly, like he's been hit between the eyes with a shovel. Ignis lets out a low, soft sigh that communicates a great deal. Gladio's eyes narrow, lips half-ticking downward in that way that means  _I'm looking at your bullshit and I'm not impressed._

Prompto rubs a hand across his mouth. "I don't deserve you, or... anyone. So I'm going. You can do better."

"No," Noctis says, and his eyes narrow, a faint ring of violet beginning to outline the black. A warning sign. A storm approaches. "Actually Prompto, I can't. Hard to do better when I've got the  _best_ at my side. And yeah, I'm talking about you."

"I'm not--"

"You are," Gladio rumbles, and it's as much a threat as a reassurance. "Goddamn it Prompto, why don't you fucking  _see_  it?"

"See wh--"

"The amount of times you've saved our asses," Noctis says, voice entirely too calm. "And  _saved us_ in general. You might not be the best fighter out of the entire Crownsguard, but you're one  _my_ best fighters. If you leave, chances are pretty good we're going to wind up dead in our next fight. We need you, Prompto."

"And more to the point," Ignis speaks up, at last. "I believe we both told you that you needn't worry of that spell went wrong. Thunder is notoriously difficult to control, and--"

"It's not about the thunder spell," Prompto snaps, something in his chest breaking free of the restraints he's been placing down on his words. "It's about  _everything!_  C'mon you guys, you have to admit, I'm not exactly anyone's idea of competency. Even Ignis and Gladio said as much when you wanted me to join up, Noct. Hell, they're  _still_ saying it!"

"What?" Noctis demands looking over at Ignis, and then at Gladio.

"What?" Ignis asks, eyebrows shooting up. "I haven't--"

"--the hell are you talking about?" Gladio demands. 

Prompto scoffs. "Wow, won't even admit you hate my guts? Should have seen that coming, I guess." He goes to leave, but Gladio's hand clamps down on his shoulder before he can, pulling him back down. Arms wrap around him, holding him firm. "Let me go!"

"Now hold on a second," Gladio says, and he sounds half-pissed and ready to throw down. "Do you mean to tell me that this  _entire fucking time_ you thought we hated you? Is that what I'm hearing? Ignis?"

Ignis' lips turn downward. "That's what it sounds like, yes. Though I'm curious as to your reasoning for why we hate you." 

Prompto laughs. It's a cold, ugly sound. "Oh come on, Ignis, don't play dumb! The amount of times I've heard you bitch about me 'wasting precious time and resources' and 'distracting Noctis from his duty' are way too many to count."

Ignis blinks, looking surprised. 

"And  _you,"_ he turns his head to look at  Gladio. "Always bitch about how I don't pull my weight in fights. How 'anyone could stand back out of range and shoot a gun'. Well then big guy, how about you try it once? Try hefting and firing, see if you're still on your feet by the end. But more to the point, 'well at least then you'll be useful for something' -  _fucking really?!"_ He kicks back against the car seat, driving Gladio against the door a little. The bigger man wheezes. "You want me gone so bad, then say it you fucking coward!"

It doesn't occur to him that these are all things he's let slide the past few months out of fear, out of desperation because of some self-imposed rule that he mustn't fight back. Now the more he talks about it - the angrier he gets. They have no right to say any of that about him when their backgrounds are completely different. No right at all.

He turns to look at Noctis last. Noctis' eyes are cold and stony, his mouth pressed into a flat line, his nose flared. He looks ready for a fight. "Even you've done it," Prompto says softly, and Noctis blinks hard. "Like that night up on the roof. You think a few soft words are enough to get rid of  _years_ worth of doubts. A pat on the head 'good job Prompto'. Except later you turn around and tell me 'I didn't ask for you' when I come running to see if you're alright. If you're  _hurt._  Tell me that doesn't amount to you hating me, Noctis. That you aren't pushing me away because you don't want me here. And don't you dare tell me it's a joke either, because I've  _heard_ your joking version of that, and it sounded  _nowhere near_ close to it. So, tell me."

He waits. The silence in the car, the stark frozen faces of his once-friends hover there. Noctis is the first to move, and it's by him the others follow. 

He takes in a deep breath, and then lets it out. 

"You're right. Soft words aren't enough. Not even close."

He gets out of the car. For a second, Prompto thinks he's going to pull his sword and cut him down. 

"We're camping here tonight. Both of you, out." His hands are curled into fists at his side, so tight that the knuckles have gone white. "And we're fixing this.  _All_ of this."

"Let me go," Prompto says. "I don't want to be here anymore."

It's a lie, the taste of it like ashes on his tongue. Noctis glances at him, and can probably read the lie on his face. Knows he has no clue what he's going to do without them. "Gladio, trade me."

Noctis takes Prompto then, but doesn't hold him hostage. "Run if you want," Noctis says as Gladio and Ignis start up the hill towards the haven. "But I'll just chase after you and bring you back. No matter how far you get. We're  _fixing this,_ Prom."

"Nothing left to fix. Just let me go."

"I'm not stopping you." He's not. But that's the thing. He doesn't have to. Prompto will stop himself, because he wants to hear Noctis out - see the proof for himself. 

The guilt of hitting them all with a thunder spell might have been what drove him out, but his doubts are what are keeping him here. And until those doubts are gone, Prompto Argentum won't be coming back. Noctis knows this. Prompto knows he knows this. 

So they're fixing this. It's going to be messy and volatile and someone's probably going to end up crying at the end. But they're clearly overdue for this - Cid said they were his  _brothers._ And yeah brothers roughhouse and tease each other, but they don't  _hurt each other._ Not like this.

Prompto chooses to believe Noctis one last time, and follows him to the haven.


End file.
